10. THE MODERN MOVEMENT AND BEYOND 1920–1990s
Education has been described as the process of learning to defend oneself against unnecessary information. Since there is no such thing in architecture as unnecessary information, all architects automatically consider themselves as educated to the highest degree. This is a comforting delusion, but has been known to lead to impressive fiascoes.
—Eugene Raskin, Architecture and People, 1974
The essence of modern architecture is rationalism. Spaces are planned to suit their functions and are defined by structural systems that exploit the efficiency of contemporary materials and innovative building techniques. Logic precludes such artificial dictums as formal symmetry and extraneous ornament that, as professor Eugene Raskin once said, “chattered at us in their neoclassical jargon.” New shapes, plain surfaces, and unfamiliar structures evolved not just as a new aesthetic but also as simple common sense.
Le Corbusier’s (1887–1965) description of the house as a “machine for living in” captured the essence of the Modern aesthetic in Europe. His book Vers une Architecture was first published in Paris in 1923 and translated into English in 1927. He articulated the view of the post–World War I European architect. The Bauhaus, founded in Weimer, Germany, in 1919, was the academy of this new architecture. It moved to Dessau, Germany, in 1926 and flourished as the High School for Creative Art under Walter Gropius until 1928 and later under Mies van der Rohe (1886–1969). When Hitler came to power in 1934, Gropius emigrated to England. Three years later he moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he became head of the School of Design at Harvard. Numerous disciples came to America with him—among them Marcel Breuer, who stayed to practice in the East, and Mies who became head of the Illinois Institute of Technology. All these architects embraced a machine aesthetic which, while appropriate for commercial and corporate programs, seemed—in its pure form—antithetical to residential design. These Internationalists rejected all applied ornament, scorned any reference in form or detail to historic or traditional styles, and promoted mass-produced factory components as the essence of the new aesthetic. I remember in the late fifties hearing Boston architect Serge Chermayeff quip in his terse British intonation that “Mies van der Rohe discovered marble, steel, and glass back in 1920 and he’s been polishing the hell out of them ever since!”
What came to be recognized as “Modern” was a rather stark new style. But its underlying logic was not always understood. Stripped-down buildings had a superficial modern appearance but were in fact often inefficiently planned and badly constructed. A building is bad not because it looks “too modern” but because it is perhaps not modern enough. If an architect fails to consider the psychological needs of the client as well as the physical needs, his or her buildings can never be truly functional.
A utilitarian structure may work well—a chicken coop, a gas station, or an airplane hangar, for example, are efficient—but it can’t be considered architecture, certainly not good architecture, unless it transcends its physical functions and encompasses the needs of the psyche as well. If, for example, people are rarely taller than 6 feet, why have ceilings any higher than 6 feet 6 inches? That is high enough to accommodate anyone but a member of the New York Knicks. The answer, of course, is that we need breathing room. We would feel claustrophobic in such a compressed space. In the same way, we expect floors to be level, doors and windows to be vertical, and spaces to be proportioned to an innate sense of scale that is part of our very nature. Also, most of us crave some kind of architectural enrichment. In The Comfortable House, Alan Gowans observed that “any and all buildings above the utilitarian level have style (whether high style, popular/commercial, vernacular or vestigial). Style, and the sense of ornament that is an integral part of it, seems to fulfill an intrinsic human need. Repressed, that need comes out in vulgarized forms.”* One look at an occupied dormitory room on any college campus and you will see the gratification of that human need fulfilled with gusto.
Intended as a panacea for a decadent society in Germany after the First World War, Modern architecture of the European variety never became popular here for residential design. It is ironic that the machine aesthetic became an elitist avant-garde architecture among sophisticated urbanites for weekend retreats and was never embraced by the majority of American homeowners. The notion of “starting from zero” was too cerebral for most Americans and the Modernists’ reasons for rejecting all precedent in our houses was patently absurd. The International style was usually tempered somewhat in American applications—the existence of a pure, geometrically sculptural phenomenon that was at odds with its environment is fortunately rare in this country. Such houses are usually an affront to nature and the community, much like a rude and assertive boor who enjoys making a spectacle of himself wherever he goes or a religious fanatic with a missionary zeal.
In the celebration of the machine—of man’s dominance over nature—there is an inherent arrogance. Glass boxes can be heated and cooled by mechanical means (technology), but usually at great expense. There are more inventive ways of evolving a design that is at the same time more compatible with its surroundings—both natural and man-made (native ingenuity). A more organic approach to architecture is just as modern but not as strictly ideological in its rejection of all traditional conventions. The Bauhaus architecture, as it came to be promoted here, failed to encompass a broad enough range of human needs and was eventually superseded by a more inclusive approach to architectural design. Mies van der Rohe’s epithet “Less is more” became scorned in the 1960s as “Less is a bore” even by many former believers, and Postmodernism appeared on the scene.
Architectural programs in the modern age required new approaches to basic design. The elevator and the skyscraper went hand in hand; so did the automobile and the motor lodge, and the infinite changes in our house design with the advent of washing machines, dishwashers, telephones, and vacuum cleaners. The publication of Frank Lloyd Wright’s houses in Europe in 1910 started the movement toward an international sharing of architectural ideas. Charles Rennie Macintosh in Scotland, Charles F. A. Voysey in England, Henri van de Velde in Belgium, Peter Behrens and J. M. Olbrich in Germany, Adolph Loos in Austria, H. P. Berlage and J. J. P. Oud in Holland, and Augueste Perret and Tony Garnier in France, all searched for solutions to new architectural problems and for ways to use new materials and new methods of production in the years before the First World War.
In the years after the war architects saw a chance to contribute to a new and better world. True modern architecture involved a new way of thinking which meant rejecting most conventional design standards.
New buildings devoid of ornament, with plain surfaces and the latest in plate-glass windows, often had the appearance of modernity but were frequently just stripped-down versions of old building types. More often than not they were as badly planned and as inefficient as the old.
Moderne—or, in its more disparaging term, Modernistic—was really a case of superficial styling. Buildings were pseudo-modern, simply dressed in a new set of clothes. I don’t mean to denigrate the Moderne style, but simply streamlining buildings, adding glass block, featuring lally columns and maybe a wraparound window or two is really more style than substance. At least most of the time.
Art Deco is sometimes called Modernistic and can be confused with Moderne. Actually it is a style of ornament (like Eastlake in the late nineteenth century) which was popular in the 1920s and 1930s for office buildings, movie theaters, and apartment houses. It is easy to identify by its frets, zigzags, chevrons, and angular, stylized floral motifs usually set in low relief in decorative panels. The style was virtually never used in houses.
MODERNE 1920–1940
INTERNATIONAL STYLE 1930–1990s
The term International style was coined in 1932 when H. R. Hitchcock and Philip Johnson organized an exhibit of modern architecture at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Their book, The International Style: Architecture Since 1922, was published as a corollary to the exhibit. Both had a tremendous influence on the course of modern architecture in America.
There were three basic attributes of the style: 1) The structure changed from load-bearing walls to a skeletal frame with an exterior skin (a thin curtain wall of glass and insulated panels) which became a barrier to the elements but not part of the structural system. Volume replaced mass as the main design consideration. 2) The exterior of a building should express the nature of the inner structural core and the spaces that structure defined. The building’s character was consequently not determined by such artificial conventions as axial symmetry and ornament. 3) Any and all decoration or ornament was omitted from the design. Even window and door surrounds were as inconspicuous as possible; surfaces were plain and pure white.
Neither Gill’s Dodge House (1914–1916) nor Schindler’s Lovell House (1922–1926) on pages xviii and xix could be considered International style. The first was more concerned with the massing of separate forms, and the second was too sculptural in its celebration of cantilevered construction. Both were modern, but neither was ideological enough to be called International. In contrast, Le Corbusier’s Villa Savoye (1928–1930) near Paris was featured in the MoMA exhibit. It captured all of the characteristics of the International style and remains undoubtedly the quintessential example of the style.
Villa Savoye, 1929
INTERNATIONAL 1930–1990s
Frank Lloyd Wright was almost seventy in 1936 when he designed Fallingwater. His first so-called “Usonian” house for the Jacobs family near Madison, Wisconsin, was finished the following year (see page xxi). His commissions had been sporadic during the twenties but the Administration Building for the Johnson Wax Company in Racine, Wisconsin, as well as Wingspread, a house for Mr. Johnson, both in 1937, sparked a whole new career which flourished undiminished until his death in 1959 at the age of ninety-two. His energy and fresh ideas assured his place in the development of modern architecture even had these later buildings been his first commissions.
The houses Wright designed in the forties and fifties, which numbered no less than 150, incorporated natural materials in a way that made his houses an integral part of the site. He almost invariably used coursed stone or brick, tall French doors, flat or shallow-pitched roofs, often with a den-tilled fascia, and extensive parapeted railings built up of overlapping boards. Wright introduced mitered glass at exterior corners and avoided contained spaces. He always stressed that he “destroyed the box” by the use of cantilevered construction where corner posts were structurally unnecessary; this allowed a sense of spatial freedom. He developed designs with strong geometric shapes and explored the design possibilities of hexagons (using a thirty/sixty degree triangle) and circular forms.
Wright inspired many young architects and his legacy lives on. Unfortunately, too many of his followers produced mannered designs that only superficially reflected his work. “Wrightian” should never really be considered a style; rather it should be thought of as a way of building. Wright used the term “organic” to describe his work. It defies precise definition—a quality which is at the heart of all great art. And the majority of Wright’s houses are indeed works of art.
What we call organic architecture is no mere aesthetic nor cult nor fashion but an actual movement based on a profound idea of a new integrity of human life wherein art, religion, and science are one: form and function seem as one, of such is democracy.
—Frank Lloyd Wright, 1953
WRIGHTIAN 1940–1960
POPULAR HOUSE STYLES 1945–1990s
CONTEMPORARY AND TRADITIONAL
Building boomed after the Second World War. Generally developers built small Cape Cods, ranch houses, or modest two-story cottages. There was no particular concern for style and there were few pretentious houses. Even custom builders used the same basic layouts—maybe a little larger all around but still quite spartan compared to the luxurious accommodations which have been standard since the early 1980s.
The four-square and the bungalow, which met the housing needs of middle America from the turn of the century to the Depression years, were abandoned in favor of basic English colonial styles and ranch houses evolved from Spanish prototypes. All designs tended to be based on American precedents. The economic depression of the 1930s and the ideology of modern architecture had both made sufficient impact on Americans before the war to obviate the need for fancy details. These postwar houses were termed “Minimal Traditional.”†
By the early 1950s, new designs began to appear: the split-level; the raised ranch; variations on Williamsburg colonials, “center hall colonials,” and garrison colonials and the two-story Contemporary that owed some of its character to the Prairie style and to the detailing of the single-story ranch house. Though modern amenities were certainly incorporated into the new houses, the modern styles imported from Europe were considered suspect by most Americans. Architects generally embraced the rationale of modern architecture and favored so-called Contemporaries, while builders tended to be wary and stuck to more reminiscent designs. Californians were perhaps the exception; they always seemed open to new ideas.
Builders continue to offer what they perceive the public wants: anything associated with the old rather than the new. It does not seem to matter how inept the planning or how gross the details as long as the house has divided lights in the windows, French doors instead of sliders, and a prominently pitched roof. And, of course, the more molding on the inside the better. Perhaps this is a desire for the accoutrements of stability and permanence in a rootless society. One thing, however, is certain: the general public has repudiated the International style in favor of something homier and more livable.
Builders are quick to reflect the taste of the times, and a hodge-podge of historic eclecticism prevails today. Architects, on the other hand, have generally been less responsive to the public’s predilection for reminiscent architecture and have persisted in promoting experimental and eccentric designs. Postmodernism’s professed “contexturalism” and “inclusivism” are largely illusionary. A cutout of a column stuck on the facade of a house does not make it compatible with an 1840 Greek Revival house next door. Perhaps a synthesis of the two positions holds more promise. Architects are often perceived as too contemporary or too Postmodern with proper justification in many instances—too much style and not enough content.
As this book is a guide to American house styles, what follows is a collection of the principal popular styles offered by builders and developers since the end of the Second World War, as well as some that have been favored by architects. All the houses shown have the same floor plan as the ones in the previous chapters, but here a breezeway and garage are also included.
As an architect I naturally have my own credo. The comments and observations with respect to the following examples are strictly personal. They reflect my bias for styles that are unpretentious and generally show a deference for regional architecture, the locale, and natural surroundings. I purposely omit the term “Contemporary” as a distinct style because it is too imprecise to mean anything. It has negative connotations for some and positive images for others when in fact there is probably more common ground between the two than one would initially expect.
“Regional” is a term that might be used more. To me it implies a respect for regional character and vernacular conventions which can spark creative architectural designs that are new and fresh and responsive to the program requirements of a client and yet complement the existing community and terrain.
Ground floor plan
MINIMAL TRADITIONAL 1935–1950
A compromise style of the Depression years. Usually one story or one-and-a-half stories, multigabled with little or no decorative details. Often suggestive of the Tudor houses of the 1920s with a front facing gable and a fairly large chimney but with a much shallower roof pitch.
RANCH and SPLIT-LEVEL 1950–1965
These are not really styles; they are building types and can appear in any number of costumes. So prevalent during the 1950s and early 1960s, they cannot be omitted from this guide. Most have fixed blinds (that probably could not even cover the window), fancy porch posts or wrought-iron supports, and contrasting brick veneer on the front.
NEO-COLONIAL REVIVAL 1950–1970s
The real-estate developers’ staple, they are invariably pale reflections of the original prototypes. Roof pitches are usually too low and windows badly proportioned. Unlike the Colonial Revival houses of the 1920s, here there is no reverence for the past. With aluminum siding, fixed vinyl blinds, and a little brick veneer to dress up the entrance side, they are the quintessential “phony colonies.”
WILLIAMSBURG COLONIAL 1950–1990s
Colonial Williamsburg opened in the early 1930s and this one-and-a-half-story Southern Colonial has been popular ever since. With symmetrical facades and fairly steeply pitched roofs with dormers, these houses are usually of either clapboard or brick.
MIESIAN 1950–1965 (rare)
Ludwig Mies van der Rohe (1886-1969) espoused the dictum that “less is more” and designed elegantly spartan buildings. Philip Johnson was his most devoted follower and his famous 1949 Glass House in New Canaan, Connecticut, is the most successful example of this style.
BRUTALISM 1960–1980
Though “brutal” in its rugged and frank use of exposed poured concrete, brickwork inside and out, and massive sense of scale, the name supposedly derives from British architect Peter “Brutus” Smithson who was an early proponent of the style. (Even rarer than Miesian.)
BUILDER’S CONTEMPORARY 1960–1985
Builders adopted the simplified details and massing of architects’ contemporary designs. Vertical siding or clapboards with natural stains, large windows, and numerous skylights were all characteristic of the style. Roofs were usually hipped or hipped in combination with low-pitched gables.
MANSARD 1960–1990s
The modern builder’s interpretation of the French roof was another cliché that caught on in the 1960s and is still fairly common. It bears little resemblance to the Second Empire style of the 1870s. Smooth stucco walls with decorative quoins, double front doors, and arched windows with louvered blinds are typical features of this style.
SUPERMANNERIST 1960–1970s
An exuberant Postmodern style characterized by eccentric massing, whimsical fenestration, and decorated with flamboyant colors and bold graphics. House numbers, for example, might be boldly featured. The facades often resemble huge advertising displays.
NEO-SHINGLE 1960–1980s
An unfortunate term given to the first of the so-called Postmodern variations, these architect-designed houses derived from vernacular prototypes and often used shingles. Though sometimes crisp and unselfconscious, they were more often obtuse and perversely iconoclastic, disdaining convention in favor of mannered eccentricity.
BUILDER’S SHED 1965–1980s
The multidirectional shed roof—a vernacular form—was widely used by architects in the 1960s and was soon imitated by builders across the country. Diagonal siding with brown stain and aluminum sliding windows were typical. Usually there was no projecting overhang or fascia at the eaves and the massing was often complex.
POSTMODERN 1960s–1990s
The term applies to any of the architect-designed houses that incorporate details and features from a checklist of trendy clichés. Stylized classical references and vernacular buildings blend in an amalgamation of affectation. Pastel colors, stripes, and eccentricity characterize the style.
NEOCLASSICAL REVIVAL 1965–1990s
Neo-Neoclassical Revival would be a better term. The two-story portico is the key feature of this style. The disfigured classical orders are inept reflections of the early nineteenth century and turn-of-the-century prototypes. It is sad to see classical orders reduced to such pathetic imitations.
NEO-TUDOR 1965–1990s
“Tudor” is usually applied to almost any front-gabled house with a steeply pitched roof, a prominent chimney, and fake half-timbered boards. These houses are rarely built of stone as the more “authentic” Tudors were in the 1920s. Mock-Tudor or Mock-’bethan would perhaps be more appropriate terms.
NEO-MEDITERRANEAN 1970–1990s
The term applies to almost any vaguely Spanish or Italian Renaissance house with a red tile roof (usually simulated), stuccoed walls, some round arched windows and doors, and a fancy front door. Common in the former Spanish territories of California, the Southwest, and Florida, they are inappropriately built throughout the country.
NEO-FRENCH ECLECTIC 1975–1990s
The revival of various “traditional” styles in the 1970s heralded a rejection of modern architecture and a search for a more pretentious old-house look. The segmented arches over the windows and doors and the decorative quoins are characteristics of this style. Front doors are apt to be elaborately embellished with classical motifs.
NOUVEAU TRADITIONAL 1980s–1990s
No style has yet evolved that so grossly and blatantly expresses the ostentatious and pretentious excesses of an era than these eclectic excrescences that have become the staple of “upscale” developers.
DECONSTRUCTIONIST 1980s–1990s
A sort of Post-Postmodernism, these designs are novel, quirky, and perversely eccentric. On the level of civil liberties, I am glad we are permitted to express ourselves in public, but I would prefer that free speech was verbal rather than quite so permanent—even in California where the style originated.
NEO-VICTORIAN 1980–1990s
Renewed interest in Queen Anne houses of the late nineteenth century has launched the usual surge of imitations. Some of the excesses of the 1980s found expression in the revival of elaborate spindlework, scrolls and brackets, and the architectural vocabulary of the late Victorian era.
AMERICAN VERNACULAR REVIVAL 1980–1990s
Unpretentious regional architecture can be an excellent starting point for new designs for our era. Good planning can comfortably complement the vernacular folk architecture of the disparate parts of this country to create contemporary houses that will never seem dated.
* Gowans, Alan, The Comfortable House (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1986).
† McAlester, Virginia and Lee, A Field Guide to American Houses (New York: Knopf, 1984/89).